


into the great unknown

by pinkfloyd1770



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst with a Happy Ending, Depression, Keith the pastry chef, M/M, Minor Original Character(s), Pining Shiro (Voltron)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-15
Updated: 2018-01-18
Packaged: 2019-03-05 04:41:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13380396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkfloyd1770/pseuds/pinkfloyd1770
Summary: Shiro and Keith meet, bake, and bang. Or: the one where Keith is a pastry chef, and Shiro has issues.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've been doing a lot of baking recently and decided Keith needed to be a pastry chef.

"Jon, I'm sorry," Shiro paused, then forced himself to speak. "If you can't find some way to make it in this week, you're going to be let go."

"Dude, that's fucked. You're fucked," Jon didn't yell. It would have been better if he had.

"I know," Shiro said, all implications be damned. He brought up the work schedule on his computer again, and tried for the umpteenth time to find a workaround. He'd even volunteered to cover Jon's shift; he'd been bartender before, it wouldn't have been an issue.

No, their manager had said, Shiro already had too many hours locked in this week, and payroll couldn't be changed on such short notice. Not without "jumping through way more hoops with corporate than that kid's job is worth."

Fuck you, Shiro had thought. Still thought. God, if he could say that aloud.

Instead he'd gone through what was by now his checklist of flaws in how the restaurant managed its employees. They had to find someone to take over Jon's shift anyway, why fire him if he'll just be back in a week and a half?

And the usual response?

Take it up with the higher ups. I'm not getting paid enough to question them.

Just like the military. Worse, because at least there you got some respect after a few years of service. Shiro almost envied Jon's newly found freedom of expression.

"Look, I know a few places. I can put in a good word for you, and get you back on your feet fast."

"Yeah? I wouldn't need to get back on them, if you weren't firing me."

Shiro sighed, away from the receiver. "It's not my call. You know if it were, I'd keep you on."

"Great, well. I'll be sure to tell that to my landlord when rent's due. See you around, captain."

The line went dead. Shiro redialed, but after going to voicemail twice, he hung up and stared at the back-office ceiling. They needed to replace the tiles.

"Fuck this."

Shiro dialed his manger.

"If this is about what I think it's about, you already know the answer." Sendak didn't sound angry, not even annoyed. Once an order came down from corporate he enforced it strictly but passionlessly.

"You honestly don't think this is idiotic?"

"It doesn't matter what I think. It doesn't matter what you think. If you don't like it, you can leave. The business is the same everywhere."

Shiro narrowed his eyes. This was the third restaurant he'd worked for, and the second managerial position he'd held. Sendak wasn't lying.

Sendak continued in his level tone. "I was in the service too. We both know when an order comes down, you do as you're told, and that's how you survive. If you want to survive. Otherwise, things get dangerous for everyone."

"What exactly does that last bit mean?"

Shiro heard glass on glass, and a quick gulp.

"You like your nice, neat orderly life? You like only having to walk to your refrigerator for food? You get the idea. You know what it means."

Shiro couldn't even muster anger at this point. He was tired, he was hungry, and he still had two hours of his shift.

"If there's nothing else, I have things I'd rather do than talk to you."

Sendak didn't wait for a response before he ended the call.

Shiro stared at the space between his feet and the desk now.

"Fuck this."

Later that night, after closing, Shiro sat in his car and tried to decide if he wanted to go home, or head to Hunk's party. Dinner party. Food give away. Hunk didn't really throw parties as much as he cooked whatever appealed to him that week, and then invited people so he wouldn't drown in the leftovers. Last time he'd made so many lamb and beef skewers that Shiro hadn't needed to go grocery shopping for the whole week, vegetable freshness be damned.

Lance also usually brought beer. Good beer, the kind that put breweries in states like Michigan and New York on the map. Beer, food. People he could talk to without wanting to swear. People who wanted to talk to him without complaining about something out of his control.

Tough call.

On his way to Hunk's, Shiro stopped at a liquor store to buy wine. He didn't drink much, but Hunk had become increasingly fond of wine as he'd grown his culinary career, and Shiro could at least put his work experience to practical use once in a while.

Six bottles should last the night, even with Allura at the party.

To no one's surprise, Lance had arrived first. Shiro noticed his car parked across from Hunk's apartment. He practically lived with Hunk on the weekends, and had no shame in admitting he was 'there for the food. I'd go to my mom's place, but it's too far.'

Same old Lance. Shiro knocked on Hunk's door. The bottles at his side clinked almost harmoniously as he shifted his body.

"Yo, welcome to kitchen nightmares," Lance grinned and opened the door wide.

Shiro walked in and didn't smell any of the expected burnt meat or singed garlic. Instead Hunk stood at the kitchen island and looked forlornly at something that resembled a poorly sculpted, cartoon turtle shell. Only this shell was lime green and lopsided, with chocolate and custard pooling around its edge.

Hunk took a few seconds to notice Shiro. When he did, he smiled briefly before his expression fell again.

"Hey Shiro, glad you could make it."

Shiro set the wine on the counter opposite the island and moved to examine the source of Hunk's angst. A cake, in his unprofessional opinion, though unlike one he'd ever seen before. The dome wasn't made of icing, but a kind of thin, stretched out paste."

"This was supposed to be the centerpiece," Hunk gestured to his dessert. Shiro thought he saw it slide more to the side as Hunk spoke.

"He's been like this for the last hour." Lance set his empty bottle down and popped open a new one.

"It would have looked beautiful. It would have tasted better." Hunk sighed.

Shiro fought back a smile. "I'm sure it tastes fine the way it is. I've never had anything from your kitchen that I didn't like."

"I second that," Lance said between swigs.

Hunk shook his head. "Sometimes presentation is just as important as taste. You know we. Taste with our eyes too."

Lance nodded slowly. "Uh huh. Taste with our eyes. You sure you didn't add any 'special' ingredients to that cake, Hunk?"

Hunk rolled his eyes. "Well, I guess I can bake cookies for dessert." He said this as though cookies were the most disgusting thing he'd tasted.

"We'll have the cake, Hunk," Shiro said firmly. "It'll be delicious."

Hunk shrugged. He regarded his double oven, the top unit set to 450 degrees. "It's beef tenderloin. Flavored with peaches and dates. We've got glazed shallots, curried carrots. Asparagus. It's stuff I've done before."

"Oh my god," Lance said to the ceiling. He slung his arm around Hunk's huge shoulder. "Relax, man. No one died. Shiro even brought wine. Just relax and enjoy yourself."

"I'm cooking a three-course meal, Lance. I've got three other people besides you two coming over, and my centerpiece dessert looks like someone sat on it."

"Hunk." Shiro assumed the same tone he used at group meetings. "Stop. You invited everyone over for great food, like always. I already know it'll be great. You know it'll be great. So stop agonizing, let us enjoy this. Let yourself enjoy this."

All this came out more forcefully than necessary. Hunk's eyes widened briefly, and even Lance's expression sobered.

"Just, do it for yourself, Hunk. At the least." Shiro softened his tone. It still held a ragged edge. He just wanted to relax after the idiocy of his work had hit him straight on.

Hunk at least seemed mollified, though the silence that ensued forced Shiro to distract everyone's attention with his wine.

"I wasn't sure if I got the type exactly right, but I figured you'd make something hearty, so I got a full red." He handed Hunk one of the bottles.

"Nice, a Zin. This'll definitely go well with the beef." Hunk thankfully opened the bottle and poured himself and Shiro a glass.

It couldn't hurt.

Shiro drank without trying to figure out how anything sat on his palette. None of the tasting notes meshed with what he actually registered.

"So…Shiro. How's things with you?"

"Dude, Lance," Hunk gave his friend a stare.

Shiro sighed. "It's fine. Things at work didn't go the way I wanted today. It's how the business is sometimes." All the time.

"Dude, you should quit," Lance said suddenly. "I mean, you were in the army. They trained you to repair and use all this complicated electronic stuff. Why don't you become like, an engineer?"

"Air Force," Shiro corrected absently. He stared at his gloved left hand. If he could call it a hand. It did basically everything a hand should do, except look and feel like one. It also sometimes still threated to turn and strangle him.

"It's more complicated than that Lance, and I'd prefer not to get into that right now."

Lance held up his hands. "All right, all right. I get it."

"If only he'd say the same thing to Allura after she ignored him one of these days," Hunk said over his wine glass.

Shiro smiled. Lance let out a yell of indignation.

"When is Allura supposed to get here?"

"She said at around 10, but it's whatever at this point."

Lance set his bottle down. "Hunk. Forget about the stupid cake."

"No no, I just meant that we won't have to worry about timing the cake right now. Aaaand you're not listening."

"Why didn't you just ask Keith to bake a cake and bring it? It's his job."

Shiro frowned. Hunk crossed his arms and stood straight.

"OK, first off, I talked to him about baking a few weeks ago, and he gave me some tips."

"Aren't you a chef?"

"Chef and baker are completely different. I'm. Not going to get into all the differences right now."

"Thank god," Lance said into his bottle.

"Who's Keith?" Shiro interrupted before this could go any further.

Lace stared at him open mouthed. Hunk pursed his lips and frowned.

"Huh. I'm surprised you two haven't met yet."

"How do you not know Keith?"

Shiro gave a tolerant smile. "We haven't met."

Lance flapped his arms wildly, bottle still in hand."

"Hey! Watch it. I don't want anyone slipping."

"Hunk. Call mullet man right now, tell him to bring a cake and get over here."

"Lance, you call him if you wanna see him that badly. Keith already told me he probably won't be able to make it tonight."

"I will." Lance finished his bottle and fumbled with his phone for a few seconds. "How do you not know Keith?" He muttered as he dialed.

"So who's Keith?" Shiro turned his attention back to Hunk.

"He and I went to the same culinary school. He was a year ahead of me, but I knew who he was before we even met. Everyone knew Keith."

"That good, huh?"

"Oh yeah. You ever hear of Luxite?"

"No."

"It's a bakery. Keith owns it. Might as well own the whole street it's on, since Luxite is the first place everyone goes."

"How much did mullet head pay you to say that? Huh? No, not you. Hunk. I mean, yeah you, but. Look. Whatever. Hunk can't bake and had a breakdown over it so we need you make us a cake or something and get over here."

Hunk seemed to have imbibed all the second hand embarrassment in the room. He emptied his glass in a gulp.

"What? I have _never._ Fine. See if I ever believe anything you say." Lance thrust his phone in front of Hunk's face.

"He wants to talk to you. I'm getting more beer."

"That might not be a good idea," Shiro said, fully knowing he'd be ignored. He was more curious what Keith had said to wind Lance up so quickly.

"Hey Keith. Yeah. No, I get it, it's annoying. Yeah, the cake didn't really turn out how I wanted. Well, I rolled it as thin as you said but. Oh shit, no, I didn't press that edge into the work surface."

Shiro tuned out the rest of the conversation. Having his own business would be a god send, but also just about as likely as waking up tomorrow with a real arm. It didn't do any good to dwell on the astronomically unlikely anyway.

"OK.." Hunk set down Lance's phone. "Keith says he's coming, and he also said he'd make another cake. Just. Not this one. I don't know what he's gonna make, he just asked if I had the ingredients."

Lance laughed. "Are you serious? He's actually gonna make a cake? What a giant nerd."

"You wanted him to come and do exactly that, Lance."

"I wanted him to bring a cake. I didn't say anything about making one. I figured he had like, spare ones in his fridge or something."

Hunk rolled his eyes. He poured himself more wine. "Well that's a load off my chest."

"What are you gonna do with that cake?" Lance brought his face within an inch of the green dome.

"Uh, put it so far back in my fridge that no one will see it or remember it for the rest of the night?"

"Hmmm." Lance poked the green sheet a few times. His finger indentation didn't recede. "Yeah, that's probably for the best."

Hunk grabbed the cake out from under Lance's face and glared. Shiro still had half a glass of wine left. He didn't want a buzz, not yet. Hunk was still distracted with his cake, and Lance. Well he'd never had any hopes on that front.

"Tell me more about Keith. You seem pretty impressed by him Lance."

"Pfft. The only thing I'm impressed by is that he goes out in public with his hair. In a service industry. He's got balls, yeah. But. I wouldn't wanna work for the guy. I don't know how Pidge does it."

Pidge, Pidge. Where had he heard that?

"Is that Matt Holt's sister?"

"Yeah, she works part time at the bakery at the register while she's in school. Keith pays well."

"Keith pays well," Lance mimicked, pitching Hunk's voice up an octave.

"What? He does. Dude, he rakes in a shit ton of money. I looked over his inventory once. It's at least a few grand a day."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Keith's great and all that."

"Having a successful business is impressive, especially a restaurant." Shiro had meant to keep that to himself.

"Yeah, we get it. God. Let's change the subject."

"Shallots!" Hunk said suddenly. Without another word he started, slicing, peeling, and sautéing.

Shiro exchanged a look with Lance and shrugged.

"A man needs his shallots."

Lance took another drink. "Man, I hope Allura makes it to this thing."

"What? You mean we're not good enough for you?"

"As far as being my girlfriend goes? Not really. And I know, the direct approach, yadda yadda, you've said that before."

"Hmm. Doesn't make it any less true."

Lance's response was cut off by a knock at the door. Shiro, glass in hand, answered. Whatever thoughts he had ground to a halt.

"Hi." That was the most eloquent response Shiro could muster to the man in front of him. He was tall, with sharp cheekbones and a fair complexion. Shiro guessed he had some Korean heritage, though his eyes were dark blue. He kept long, black hair tied back.

"Hey," the man said casually. He made eye contact only briefly, then walked past Shiro without another word.

A knot, Shiro thought after he'd closed the door and saw the man's back. He wore his hair up in a knot.

"Keith, man you got here fast." Hunk wiped his hands on his apron and offered Keith a drink. He declined.

"Yeah, what gives? Don't you live like waaay the hell out there?" Lance gestured in a wide arc with one hand.

"I was out on a walk." Keith turned to Shiro. "Who's he?"

"Shiro." Shiro held out his hand, ignoring Lance's outburst of 'oh shit! Right!' "Nice to meet you."

"Same." Keith's handshake was firm and brief. He turned away from Shiro almost immediately to address Hunk.

"We're gonna make a povitica."

Hunk considered this, even as Keith started to unpack the bag Shiro only just noticed he'd carried.

"How long is proofing?"

"Hour. Plus another hour in the oven. About a half hour for prep."

"That. That could work." Hunk gave Lance and Shiro a nervous glance. "Is it all right if we wait for dessert?"

"Nope, I'm gonna leave if I don't get cake in the next ten minutes." Lance lounged on the couch. He perked up when he heard another knock.

"I'll get that." He was up and moving faster than Shiro expected. Good thing too. He was more interested in seeing how skilled a baker Keith was.

"Allura! Life of the party. And Coran too. Haven't seen you in forever."

"Actually, Lance, it's only been two and a half weeks since we last saw each other."

Shiro greeted his two friends. He even hugged Allura. Lance had long since lost his suspicion that the two of them were secretly dating.

"Good timing." Keith set a scale on the counter. "This thing accurate?"

Hunk gave Keith one of his few scathing looks. "I don't know, is your mullet out of style?"

Shiro snorted into his glass. Keith glanced at him, lips curved in a small smile, and Shiro repeated 'It's because of Hunk's joke,' over and over again.

"You and Lance spend too much time together. Can you measure out 300 grams of flour?"

"What's all this?" Allura asked after she'd gotten a beer from Lance. She loved stouts that tasted far too much like coffee for Shiro's taste.

"Keith's making cake since Hunk failed and now dinner's gonna be delayed, apparently."

"Aw, shit." Hunk almost dropped the bag of flour. "I still need to finish the carrots. Sorry, Keith."

"No problem," Keith said. He'd rolled his sleeves up and Shiro's initial assessment that he was in shape was confirmed, if his forearms were anything to go by.

"I'll help," Shiro volunteered suddenly. He cleared his throat at the sudden attention he received from everyone present.

"It'll go faster with two people," Shiro reasoned. Yes. The seasoned baker with his own shop needs you to help him measure flour. Put your engineering skills to use, Takashi. Just like at the restaurant.

"True." Keith nodded. He tossed Shiro an apron. Apparently he knew Hunk's kitchen as well as his own.

"So." Shiro returned to eloquent form as he moved to stand a few feet from Keith. Keith drummed his fingers on the counter edge for a few seconds.

"We'll go high to low. Flour's already in the bowl, next is caster sugar. It's in the box with the blue lid. Forty grams."

Shiro processed the information for what must have been entirely too long, because Keith's eyebrows furrowed slightly.

Ah. He has nice thick eyebrows.

"Right, OK." Shiro's voice came out smoothly somehow. He zeroed the scale and slowly watched the numbers climb as he added sugar.

"Eh, don't be afraid to go fast." Keith dumped a heaping spoonful into the bowl. The number settled at 39. A literal pinch later, and it inched to 40.

Keith hummed in approval, and so things went. Shiro measured, poured, and cut, and Keith would slice off a paper-thin sheet of butter, or add what Shiro swore were a few dozen grains of salt. Eggs he cracked and added to the bowl one-handed. 'Robotic' invaded Shiro's thoughts at first, but the motion was too fluid, too…trained.

Shit, shit, shit.

Keith shut off the mixer with a barely audible 'good,' once the dough reached his approved consistency. He met Shiro's eyes.

"Bake much?"

"No. Well. Cookies, a long time ago, if that counts." Like it did. Jesus.

But Keith nodded, and his smile threated to form again.

"Cookies are legitimate. One hundred per cent. There are at least six variable you can tweek in chocolate chip cookies to make them your own."

"I never got that far into chocolate chip cookies myself." No, he would not be telling Keith he followed the instructions on the back of a box of Hershey's chocolate chips.

Something about that amused Keith enough to make him smile. Shiro thought he looked almost cocky, and that was enough to send heat to his face.

"Hey Hunk, where did you put the food processor?"

Thank god.

"Island cabinets, bottom right." Hunk was occupied with tenting foil over his roast. "You gonna be ready in about twenty?"

"No problem."

Shiro focused very closely on Keith's instructions, and when he felt secure that no blood would rush to unwanted places, Keith broke into his serenity.

"Here, feel the dough. It's nice and elastic, but still soft."

Shiro placed his hand on the dough and nodded, though he had no frame of reference for Keith's description of the dough's texture.

"Guess I'll keep that in mind for reference." For all the 3 hour-long baking sessions I do in my crappy apartment for myself.

"Keith, why are you making Shiro touch the dough? He doesn't care about how stretchy it is." Lance leaned on the counter and appraised the dough in its tin, completely unimpressed.

Keith snorted. "We're done here, Hunk."

Hunk grinned. "Thanks man, you're a lifesaver."

"And thanks for your help, Shiro. We made a good team." Keith turned to the sink to wash his hands.

"No problem." Shiro found his glass and drank. Idiot, idiot. Do not get attached to what you can't have.

How attached were you to your arm before? Eh? Hahaha.

"Fuck."

"You all right, Shiro?" Keith spoke from across the island. He dried his hands with a white towel. Shiro watched his hands and his arms. Both arms, both hands.

Idiot.

"Fine. No worries here." Shiro smiled.

Keith was convinced, and joined the others at the table in the living room. For some reason, the only seat left was right across from Keith. Thankfully, Hunk was on Keith's right, and the two apparently had some catching up to do.

"Everything's good with the new place? No more hiccups?"

"No, not anymore. I just had a very shitty conversation with one of my suppliers, and I. Well I did something I'm not proud of."

Shiro leaned in against his better will. Lance chortled.

"I believe that."

"Lance," Allura whispered, though she too looked interested.

"I used Kolivan as a threat."

Lance gawked. "You mean you told them Kolivan would crush their heads with his bare hands if they didn't do what you said?"

"No. Jesus. Kolivan knows everyone, and everyone knows him. If he says that a supplier is shitty, people will listen."

"Yeah, well, just send them a picture of him next time with a caption that says, 'he knows where you live.' The dude's bigger than a freight train."

Hunk nodded. "I gotta admit, Kolivan still kind of scares me."

Keith sighed. "He's never punched anyone."

Lance snorted. "Oh that makes me feel so much safer."

The conversation carried on. Shiro pondered how so many people in his social group knew someone he'd never heard of.

"How long have you been in the city, Keith?"

Keith swallowed a mouthful of roast. "Seven months. Bought the new place a year ago. Spent a few setting up. It's been way smoother than expected."

"I think it's wonderful we're all settled in the same city now," Allura said. "We should have these dinners more often now."

"Definitely. I say we do it at Keith's place next time. Not that I don't love cooking for you guys, but I'm pretty sure that cake took a year from my life."

"Yeah, sure. That's no problem. I'm settled in." Shiro noticed the furrow of Keith's brow again. His features smoothed a moment later.

"Just give me the date."

"I'll be sous chef. Pay you back for the cake."

"Thanks, Hunk. What about you, Shiro? How long have you known Hunk and Lance?"

"Hunk I've known for six years. We met through work. We were in the same restaurant, and then I met Lance through him."

"You're a chef too?"

"No. Management." Shiro stopped a wince a second before it wrinkled his face.

"Ah, that's a bitch and a half."

Shiro relaxed and smiled. "It is. I've got stories."

"I'll bet."

Shit. That confident smile again, just shy of cocky. Do not be an idiot. You do not want to drag this man into your idiocy.

Hunk snapped his fingers. "Shiro, you have to go to Keith's bakery."

Shiro bit down on his tongue. Shut up Hunk. Shut. Up.

"Could always use another customer."

This man did not break eye contact when he wanted something. Dammit.

Hunk laughed. "How many times did Kolivan make you repeat that?"

"I'd rather not say. Hunk's right though, Shiro. You should come."

Fuck. Fuck. Idiot. Do not.

"I'd really like that."

Keith smiled again. There was nothing _almost_ about its cockiness.

Shiro could only close his eyes.

Idiot.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brief sexual content ahead

When Shiro returned home after his discharge, he read his backlog of books into the morning, slept into the afternoon, and spent every hour before five on the phone with the VA. After five, he walked, for no other reason than it helped him avoid the urge to drink. His parents lived in the suburbs of a small Midwest town, and so he could go for mile after mile on flat, grassy terrain until his racing mind exhausted itself.

A few weeks in, and Shiro had tried to recreate a fitness regime; he consulted with a few friends who were in similar situations, and after a rocky start where he faced the painful realization that he couldn't yet do pushups or pullups, he set to exhausting his body each day as well. People knew him at the gym, they knew him in his neighborhood. They knew why he was home, they saw, every time they laid eyes on him, and for them that was more than enough to create their own narrative.

"You did your country proud." That came from a Korean War vet who approached Shiro after they'd both finished their workout regime.

"Yeah." Shiro could only say that and nod, and it was enough, thank god, it was enough, and the man just returned his nod, gripped his shoulder, and went on with his day.

You're a fucking liar.

No I didn't say anything I didn't It was an honorable discharge.

So honorable

Shut up

Shiro went to a different gym after that conversation.

His parents said he had time, more than enough time. He's young, he's smart. It doesn't matter if his choice of career ended, it doesn't matter if he lost a limb. It's fine. It's enough. It doesn't matter. Everything is fine.

Shiro doesn't drink, but his friends do, and when Matt visits, time compacts to a small interval, and things are fine. Shiro says they should all go out to a bar, because that's what they all did before. He's learned to drive with one arm, and he'll play DD, even against everyone's protests. Shiro smiles and yes, things are fine.

The bar is a liminal space for Shiro. It's dark when he arrives, dark while he's there, but it might as well be cloudless and sunny by the time the third round arrives. First was free, to much fanfare from everyone present. The offer of free drinks was tolerable since it wasn't only on Shiro's account.

Shiro's phone vibrates in his pocket at some point. His dad. They check on him more than when he was in high school, but. They care. There's that, and that's still something important. He excuses himself, and spends a few minutes telling his father that nothing is wrong, he's still with Matt and everyone else, and he should be home in a few hours. Whatever time that might be.

When he turned, he saw a man. Boy? He didn't look a day over eighteen, but he had to get into the bar.

The boy eyed Shiro as he walked back to the bar.

"Does it feel good?"

Should keep walking. Just keep walking.

"What?"

"Being a solider? Makes you feel like a man, huh?"

Keep walking This kid doesn't know what he's talking about He read something on a blog and thinks he understands the whole world.

"Yeah, going overseas and killing a bunch of poor people reaaaly gives you a rush, I'll bet."

What the fuck do you know you little shit? How far have you even gone outside of your mom's basement? Shut. Up.

Shiro stopped.

"I really hate people like you," the boy continued.

Shut up Shut up

Was he drunk? Has to be

Who cares? Kick the fucker's teeth in

"It's the whole alpha male bullshit you buy into and then you expect everyone to feel all sad when you…"

Shiro had the boy slammed against the brick wall, his arm crushing against his collar bone, just under his neck.

"Shut. Up."

Then the boy's expression was a mirror for Shiro's own surprise and horror. He moved back and heard wheezing, then felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Shiro. Let's go." Matt, his voice quiet and firm.

They turned, and neither looked back, though Shiro just barely kept his eyes forward.

Ah whatever, the little pussy's fine.

Shut up goddammit.

Shiro's whole body tensed in fury, and he bit into his tongue as though it would silence his mind.

"I. I lost control. I shouldn't have. He."

"I know." Matt was too calm for all this. "I heard some of it when I was just at the door."

Shiro still doesn't know if that's the truth, but Matt believes him. He never heard Shiro's thoughts.

"I'm not fine," Shiro said when they reached the car.

 

 

"I know."

Shiro got out of bed after 2 pm. He'd gotten home at around four in the morning from Hunk's party, and had indulged in his buzz. More than indulged. Usually when he drank too much he couldn't control where his mind went once he was alone.

He'd only spent an hour lying awake in bed.

Shiro stared at his bookshelf. Still plenty of ground to cover, but he could forgive himself one night. Today. A walk? It was cold. A headache threatened to come through from his temples, and last night, he'd said

"Yeah, definitely. I'll meet up with Hunk and we'll go on down to your store after you close."

Shiro didn't want to think about Keith's smile, or his hands when he rolled and kneaded the dough, or all the little technical details he gave about how to handle paper thin sheets that dough.

Meet them, Takashi. Are you going to be a coward like the guy at the bar?

Shiro drowned his thoughts and everything else in a hot shower. He took his time to shave and lather. Then he managed to complement himself for not wearing a sweatshirt and track pants, and immediately rescinded that when he admitted Keith's composed attire spurred him on.

Reasons be damned, he managed to look decent, even in a sweater and jeans.

What, are you on a date now? Adding it to your grand total of one previous experience?

"Enough," Shiro muttered. It never was.

He made an omelet for breakfast, tried and failed to keep wandering thoughts of Keith's critique out of his mind.

Afterward, Shiro stared at the growing pile of dishes in his kitchen sink. He slowly set the egg crusted top on the small tower. Hunk had helped him clean just last week when things were a bit more difficult than usual. The floor was at least clean; thankfully it was tile and not linoleum.

Shiro's phone vibrated. He glanced at the screen and sighed.

"Yeah, yeah. Take the pill, take the pill."

He'd never missed one. When he'd first started the prescription, Shiro was disappointed that he wasn't instantly hit with a burst of enthusiasm that let him keep his apartment spotless and his job search focused.

"Keeps me going though."

When all was done, Shiro had half an hour to get to Keith's and…what? Sweat, probably. With traffic, compounded by mounting uncertainty, Shiro arrived with just five minutes to spare.

Keith's bakery stood out amongst the usual grey and brick of the city. The façade was painted pale red, and had large windows framed with white, two on either side of the double doors.

Shiro wiped his hands on his jeans and walked to the entrance. He exhaled deeply once he saw Hunk leaning against the counter, talking with Keith.

Right. Keith.

Shiro entered the shop.

"Hey, Shiro. Glad you made it." Keith waved from his place behind the counter.

"Wouldn't miss it." Shiro immediately distracted himself with his surroundings.

The floor was hardwood, the ceilings high and white and smooth, and the brick walls were covered with paintings and photos that Shiro assumed came from local artists. It didn't feel homey, but it was clean, warm, and suffused with the smell of fresh bread and spices.

Once he was close enough, Shiro examined the contents of the display cases. Loaves of bread were arranged in lines in the left case, and on the right, he could see more varieties of cakes, tarts, and pastries than he'd ever bothered to conceive. On the counter, cookies were stacked beneath heavy glass domes, and he guessed that the flavor of even the plainest looking ones was anything but.

"This is." Shiro laughed softly. "It's pretty amazing."

"It's a pretty standard set up." Keith managed to sound modest. What kind of training regiment did he go through in school?

"Don't listen to him," Hunk said. "People from our class would kill to have a set up like this."

"They wouldn't have the guts for that." Keith walked around the counter and locked the front door. "I hate people who come in even when the CLOSED sign is up."

"Must hate Hunk and me then, huh?" Even Shiro had to admit that was well timed.

Everyone wins once in a while.

"Hunk is a good guy." Keith pulled down the blinds on the door. "You though." He shrugged. "Some baking help you turned out to be."

Shiro laughed. "I measured didn't, I?"

"Mmm, but you didn't help roll or add the filling, or stretch or fold. Gotta stick it out until the end."

"Not with how much Shiro drank." Hunk was distracted by the tart display and still managed to stab him in the back.

Come on, bow out gracefully. Fun time is over. Get some free cake, stuff your face, and forget this ever happened.

"Terrible," Keith said, his expression completely opposed to his words.

Oh my god.

Shiro started to sweat. Keith mercifully broke eye contact.

"What looks good, Hunk?"

"Don't ask rhetorical questions. I want like the whole second and third row."

"Go for it."

Hunk gave Keith a pained look. "Don't do that to me. You know I'll eat it all."

"I'll cut you off at any four then."

"Deal."

"Shiro?" Now he was back in the hot seat.

"Um." He honestly didn't know. He didn't know half the names of anything in the cases. Eclairs, sure. Only he'd never seen them with pale purple and blue cream, and decorated with paper thin shavings of white and dark chocolate. He could only apply the broad terms 'cake' and 'tarts' to most other things.

"Well, what did Hunk try to make last night?"

"Oh dude, come on…"

Keith was surprised. "Princess cake? I could make that, no problem."

"No, you seriously don't have to. I've never seen anything like it before."

"Layer on bottom, jam, cream, layer, piped crème patisserie, layer, cream dome, marzipan cap. That's it."

"Show off," Hunk muttered.

"Marzipan," Shiro said the word, and tried to remember if he'd heard it before.

"Hold that thought." Keith ran to the back as the phone rang.

Shiro's body slackened like a wet cloth. Jesus. He moved toward Hunk, until they were almost shoulder to shoulder.

"Hunk, is Keith…"

"Yeah, he's into you man."

A jolt of terror made Shiro acutely aware that Keith stood less than fifth feet from him. He took a deep breath and his pulse slowed.

"Why?"

Hunk's expression softened. "He thinks you're a good-looking guy. You're easy to talk to for him, so. Yeah. Don't be down on yourself."

Shiro shook his head. "No, I mean. Why does he want to get to know me better? He just wants to have sex, or what?"

Hunk paused and glanced at the space behind the counter to see if Keith would emerge.

"Look, I don't wanna talk about Keith behind his back. He's. He's like Lance, if Lance put his money where his mouth is. And people tended to approach Keith, at least when we were in school."

Shiro nodded. "So he's interested."

"Yeah." Hunk thankfully didn't ask the question Shiro couldn't even voice aloud.

Shiro also couldn't focus on anything in the shop. He pulled out his phone and scrolled through its album until he found the photo of him in full uniform, after he'd completed officer training, right before his first deployment. There he was, tall, and proud, and confident. And happy.

"What the hell happened to you?"

Shiro didn't look up from the screen when he heard Keith's foot-steps.

"Kolivan doesn't know when to stop. What'll it be, Shiro?"

Do not do not Stop being so stupid

Shiro met Keith's eyes. "What are you doing tonight, Keith?"

Keith stopped short, then grinned. Shiro felt his thought process plunge down a cliff.

"A few things, I think."

"Uhhh." Hunk's face darkened as though he'd lodged one of the large window pastries in his throat. Shiro's didn't fare much better.

Keith looked between them, as utterly pleased as a kid who'd belted off a swear streak in front of his parents.

What a little shit. Shiro couldn't stop the tug at his lips.

"We'll see about that," Shiro countered.

"You don't even know what I'm talking about," Keith laughed.

Hunk interrupted. "I know what you're talking about, and I don't wanna hear about it. I just want my tarts, and I wanna go home."

Keith assented, opened the case, and let Hunk have his selection. Hunk cast a hesitant look at the other cases before he shook his head with a soft 'no.' He headed to the door.

"Well have fun dudes. Don't, uh. Fill me in on any of the details."

Keith smiled. "I'll fill…"

"NO." Hunk gave Keith a stony stare and tried to exit the shop. "Dammit." He unlocked the doors and left without another word.

Keith turned to Shiro, and for the first time since they'd met, he seemed uncertain.

"Sorry about that. We don't have to do anything like that."

"It's fine. Never knew Hunk was that easy to rile."

"Hunk is fine as long as it's not about anyone he knows personally. How do you think he hangs out with Lance?"

Shiro laughed. "Good point." He gave the bakery another look around. There were a few tables and chairs against the back wall.

"Take a seat." Keith gestured. "You want coffee, or tea?"

Shiro took a chair. "Coffee, no question. Cream and sugar."

"Huh. I took you for straight black." Keith disappeared behind the counter.

"Sure you're not thinking about yourself?" Shiro called back.

Rich coming from you

Keith returned a few minutes later with a tray. He carried it one handed, and placed it on the table with barely a clatter of cups.

"What are these?" Shiro picked up what looked like a cookie; it contained glazed bits of fruit and nuts on the front, and a glossy coat of dark chocolate on the back.

"Florentines. Don't dip 'em. It'll make the chocolate run through." Keith poured himself a cup of coffee and added cream, and did the same for Shiro

"You're policing my cookie dipping?" Shiro bit into the Florentine; chocolate and caramel dissolved on his tongue, followed by the sharp taste of cranberry and the heady spice of walnut.

"Shit that's good."

Keith took a drink. "That wouldn't have been as good if you'd dipped it. Also it's a biscuit."

"Mhm." Shiro agreed through another mouthful. He chased the bite with coffee.

"Great coffee too."

Keith smiled. "Thanks. Kolivan taught me to make good coffee. One of the best thing he did teach me. That and beating eggs."

"Eggs?"

"My first job in a bakery was beating egg whites. That's it. I had to whip up the perfect consistency for soufflés."

Shiro laughed. "Seriously?"

"Seriously. It was a bitch at first, but after a while it was soothing, especially when I pictured Kolivan's face in the eggs."

"So can you make scrambled eggs?"

"I'll scramble your ass," Keith said, eyes narrowed.

Shiro beat down the heat that threatened his face.

"Yeah? We'll see."

Keith leaned back and when that smirk started to form, Shiro realized this was a fight of words he couldn't win. He deflected.

"I've wondered. What's it like owning your own shop?"

"Shitty, then great, then shitty. 2:1 shit to great factor. I'm here at 4 AM everyday, and spend the first hour hauling fifty pound bags of flour and sugar around. Then I bake the bread that proofed the night before, mix some new dough. Get started on some of the sweeter stuff. My assistants come in at around 5:30, so things ease up a bit then."

"Where does the one part 'great' come in?"

"I can bake whatever I want. I don't have to listen to anyone's standards except my own, and I choose who I work with."

Shiro stared. "That sounds like way more more than one part great. That part about standards, especially."

"I'm going on less than four hours sleep now. I'm kinda biased toward shit right now. You work in an independent place?"

Shiro hesitated. "Chain. Not the best place to be, but it pays the bills. So…"

"You can complain. I still complain."

Shiro shrugged. "I don't see the point. It's not really anyone's fault except my own that I'm still at a job I don't like."

Oho here it comes This is why you shouldn't go out with successful people

"It's cathartic though. That's important." Keith took a florentine and bit into it. He leaned forward. "What do you really wanna do then?"

The question punted Shiro over his comfort zone. He eyed the door before forcing himself to meet Keith's gaze.

"Long term. I don't really know. I used to, I had a clear goal in mind. I could picture what I wanted my life to be." Shiro took a breath and felt liked he'd been running. He kept took in Keith's face, and leapt forward, blind.

"Now I just don't wanna feel like crap at the end of the day. If I feel good at the end of my week, well then that's the dream."

Idiot, idiot, idiot Piece of shit You really think someone like Keith wants to hear a shitty sob story?

"I don't know your story," Keith said slowly. "But I know I felt like you did for most of my life until I was sixteen. And I know that I wasn't any less of a person for feeling like that. If that helps." Keith averted his eyes. He took a drink.

"There's my public service announcement for the day," he said over his cup.

Shiro's breathing and pulse steadied. A warmth spread from his chest and into his limbs.

"Coming from you, ha, that helps a lot."

"Why from me though? We've known each other for about a day."

Shiro considered this. "You've succeeded. You pushed through it. I don't know your story either, but." Shiro gestured around to the bakery interior.

"I had a lot of help. More than I can repay."

"But still."

"Two to one shit ratio," Keith reminded with a smile.

Well holy shit you're doing something right

Shiro drained his cup. He needed Keith to teach him to make coffee like this. He needed Keith to show him how to make a…florentine. How to make bread. How to…

Slow down Takashi. You don't even know the man's last name.

"I know what I want today though. I wanna see your place."

"Progress," Keith said with a nod. "We can make that happen, no problem." He stood and arranged the florentines in a stack.

"These are way too good to waste. Be back in a sec."

Shiro couldn't credibly retort, and Keith soon returned with a plastic container. He now wore a cherry red coat with a high collar. The color meshed with Keith in Shiro's mind, and burned into his mind like a kind of silhouette when coupled with the man's personality.

"Ready?"

Shiro started and rattled the cups. He steadied the table.

"Yeah, let's head out."

"Jesus, I hate this weather," Keith pulled up his hood as a frigid wind picked up.

"Not much for snow then?"

"Fuck that shit." Keith shoved his hands in his pockets. "You drove, right?"

"I'm right there on the curb. You take the bus, or?"

"Walk. I'm about three blocks away."

Shiro laughed. "You still wanna drive?"

Keith moved next to the car. "You bet your ass."

"So spoiled," Shiro said as he started the car.

"Says the man with a car. All I've got is a motorcycle."

"Red?"

"Hm?"

Shiro pulled out of the parking space. "Is your bike red?"

"Yeah, how'd you know?"

"Luck guess. Where are we going?"

"Left, then three streets and it's on the right. Big grey, stone front building."

Five minutes later, Shiro parked the car.

"Was that really necessary?" Shiro asked as Keith let him into the building.

"You can walk in ass-cold weather if you want. That's not for me. Here. We can take the stairs, and you'll be able to work off those cookies."

"That you gave me." He matched Keith's pace of two stairs at a time.

"That you ate."

"Wasn't easy to resist."

"Damn right."

They reached the fifth floor at the same time. Keith took a deep breath.

"That felt good."

Shiro agreed. Wearing out his body made it easier to run his mind into exhaustion when needed.

"Here we go." Keith unlocked his door and stood aside for Shiro.

The apartment was sparse on decoration. The living room had a grey, cloth couch, flanked by two chairs, and all three faced a wood, built in book shelf packed with titles Shiro couldn't make out. The coffee table had three cactuses in stone pots. One was in bloom, bright red and waxy. Next to the living room was a staircase; the wall that ran up with the stairs was dotted with small, framed pictures.

"I have too much shit," Keith said as if to apologize for a non-existent slight. He tossed his coat on the couch.

"You should see my place." Shiro would eventually invest in shelves instead of piling his unread books around his bed.

He really shouldn't see it though, should he?

"I'll have to sometime." He led Shiro to the kitchen. In contrast to Hunk's granite, the countertops were a pale wood, and the cabinets were black with glass and steel doors and handles. He owned a similar double oven, and his range was imbedded in the island.

Shiro placed his hand on the cool counter and examined the scratches left by previous work. Keith hadn't been in the city for a year, but he imagined the kitchen has seen more use than most would in twice that time.

"Nice place." Shiro looked back. "Cactuses?"

"I like warmer places. Those remind me of. Well not home, but not the white bullshit that's gonna fall here soon."

"Not a Midwest boy, huh?"

"Fuck no. I need heat in my old bones." Keith walked around the island and touched the edge of his range. "You cook much?"

"One pot and stir fry mostly."

"Make the stir fry spicy?"

"Do I look white you?"

Keith smirked and leaned across the counter. "You tell me, Mr. Midwest boy."

Indignation overrode the power of Keith's smirk. Shiro jabbed a finger in his face.

"I will end you. My stir fry will end you."

"You sure your Midwest stomach can handle that life-ending stir fry?"

"It can handle whatever you can throw at it. _I_ can handle whatever you give."

"Whatever, huh?"

Keith's tone trumped indignation, but Shiro didn't back down.

"Yeah."

Keith expelled a slow breath. He took Shiro's hand, his real hand, and pulled him along, away from the kitchen, up the stairs.

Keith's bedroom was dim. Shiro made out a bed, a thick comforter. And Keith. Keith took off his shirt and yes, he was in shape. The baker who made princess cake was lean with a defined chest and arms. He took Shiro by the hand again, pulled and pushed him onto the bed, so Shiro sat on its edge.

Keith straddled him, gripped his biceps, his breath hot on Shiro's neck.

"This ok?" He met Shiro's eyes.

Fuck yes

"Yeah, yeah. It's good. It's…"

Shiro gasped as Keith ran his tongue along his neck and sucked at the space between his shoulder and collarbone.

"Shirt," Keith muttered.

"Yeah," Shiro nodded and struggled to get his sweater off while Keith leaned into him. He managed, and the feel of his skin against Keith's was enough to force the air from his chest in a shuddering breath.

"Fuck."

Keith laughed against Shiro's ear and pulled at the lobe with his teeth, then returned to his neck to lavish it with his tongue and mouth.

Jesus Keep going.

Keith pressed his lips to Shiro's, softly at first, then harder until Shiro struggled to remember the awkward kisses he'd shared and how he could cobble together a passable effort for this man.

He let Keith take the lead, and in the next moments found himself pushed onto the bed, Keith's mouth moving lower until it reached Shiro's navel.

"Still good?"

Shiro could only look up and nod.

Yes God I need this

And what will you do once you have it?

Keith worked off Shiro's belt, unzipped his pants, and hooked his fingers in the hem of his underwear and exposed Shiro's length in one motion.

Fuck Fuck

Shiro flinched in surprise as he felt Keith's breath against his erection.

"Fuck," Keith whispered, and took Shiro in his hands.

Warm and rough. Shiro couldn't help the thrust of his hips. Keith pumped him, and he felt ready to burst just when Keith took him into his mouth.

"Shit." Shiro thrust into Keith's mouth, but was met with no protest. Shiro did his best to sit up, and his face must have been comical when he registered that Keith was working him with his throat.

Oh fuck

"Keith. Keith I'm gonna come."

Keith continued as though he hadn't heard.

"Keith, I'm." Shiro stalled when Keith made eye contact. He pulled up slightly, but kept his mouth on Shiro as he felt his body quake.

With a gasp, and a guttural grunt, Shiro climaxed, and Keith road it out without a flinch.

"Fuck." Shiro fell back, eyes to the ceiling. Wrung out, only his curiosity allowed him to sit up.

Keith knelt on the bed and wiped his mouth, his expression one of supreme, pleased confidence. It was almost enough to make Shiro hard again.

"You look amazing right now." Keith sat back and admired him.

"You…you're a devil, you know that?"

Keith laughed. "Hmm. I'll take that."

Shiro snapped out of his daze. He reached toward Keith. "Here, let me…"

Keith shook his head. "Nah, I wanna look at you." He did just that, calm and collected, until he moved forward to lay on top of Shiro. He sighed.

"Good first date?"

"Amazing first date." Shiro hesitated. "You're the second person I've done anything with."

Keith raised his head, nodded. "No worries. Let me know if I do anything too quickly. Did I. Make you uncomfortable at Hunk's party?"

"I was just surprised. I didn't know if you were into me, or if you were just cocky. Either way." He laughed.

"I can be both," Keith confirmed. He rested his head on Shiro again, and they both faced the ceiling.

Shiro let himself sleep, mind and body finally exhausted.

**Author's Note:**

> Shiro has one or two issues holding him back.


End file.
